


Triangle Sandwiches

by Syntheticpalindromes



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: But not quite, M/M, almost, almost a crack fic, this is like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntheticpalindromes/pseuds/Syntheticpalindromes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why exactly are you dying?”</p><p>Nick glared, “Isn’t it obviously? I am almost thirty. Three Zero. Disgusting. Look at these crow's feet!” </p><p>He jabbed a finger towards his eyes, at the tiny crinkles beside his eyes.</p><p>Harry frowned, “Those are like, laughter lines.”</p><p>Nick sucked in a breath, “NOTHING IS THAT FUNNY HAROLD.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triangle Sandwiches

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to just say that this isn't amazingly serious but I don't care I'm posting it anyway.
> 
> Also find me @ themattyhealy.tumblr.com thnks xoxo

Grimmy decided after the second shot of Sambuca that maybe drinking his way through the alcohol in his house was a terrible idea. For one thing, why did he even own Sambuca? Who thought it would be a good idea to let him buy Sambuca?

He pushed away the bottle and the glasses he’d used and stumbled to his feet.

He checked the clock on the kitchen wall, squinting at it as it wobbled about on the wall.

“Stay the fuck still.” He whispered at the clock, which according to his eyes read: 3:06.

This was a new low. Drunk at six past three on his almost-30th birthday.

He gathered himself, pulling his pyjama bottoms up where they were slipping down his arse, and attempted to walk in a straight line towards the lounge. He managed to only bump once into the side of the sofa before he sat down and reached for his phone.

He took a deep breath. 

_Okay here we go. Unlock the phone. Good. Good. Now type a normal and not drunk sounding message to Harry. Easy enough._

His fingers typed and after a moment he looked proudly at the text of, “cmn and fckigng savoury me I Anne dying” with a stream of aubergine emojis afterwards.

He deemed it good enough in his current state, and considering he was half blind at this point; sent it off at Hazza.

A moment later his phone _pinged_ and the angel Harry Styles’ text came into his blurry view, 

“U r a nob i’ll be over in 10” and then another stream of laughing emojis.

~*~

Harry let himself in, shutting the door quietly behind himself and then wandering into the lounge, where he found Nick watching a Hollyoaks omnibus. With the sign language lady and everything.

Nick glanced over at him, “Thank GOD you’re here, I’ve been trying to work out who this fucking character off Hollyoaks is for ages. I don’t recognize them.”

Harry stared at the telly, “The sign language woman?”

Nick stared at the telly too, “Oh...Yeah…”

Harry covered his mouth with a hand to hold back a laugh as Nick squinted at the woman, “What mysteries does this woman’s hands hold. She could be saying anything. Telling us to fuck off in Makaton.” 

“Makaton is sign language for babies, Nick.”

“Even worse, _the cheeky cow._ ”

Harry cautiously approached Nick on the sofa, the last time he’d gotten too close to him when he was steaming drunk, Nick had tried to get him to give him a piggyback. But he’d overshot it by about a metre and a half. How one does that, Harry still does not know.

He sat on the clear space next to him and said gently, “Why exactly are you dying?”

Nick glared, “Isn’t it obviously? I am almost thirty. Three Zero. Disgusting. Look at these crow's feet!” 

He jabbed a finger towards his eyes, at the tiny crinkles beside his eyes.

Harry frowned, “Those are like, laughter lines.”

Nick sucked in a breath, “NOTHING IS THAT FUNNY HAROLD.”

Harry leaned back, wincing, “Sorry. Sorry. Uh, let me make you some tea and get you a sandwich to soak up the alcohol….Um...What exactly did you drink?”

Nick lolled his head back against the sofa cushions, “Do you have an hour?”

“Right okay. I’ll just...tea...and sandwiches.”

~*~

Harry tapped his foot, the radio playing at a bearable level in the background, usually he cranked it to full blast but he felt like maybe Nick would appreciate some quiet time with the sign language lady. He sliced some bread off the load and tucked it back into the bread bin, which Nick surprisingly owned. He never took Nick for a bread bin man.

He felt rather motherly as he popped a Baby Bell onto the sandwich plate when they were done and placed it onto the tray with the cup of tea. He smiled at the shoddily made triangles and the bag of Pomme Bears he’d shoved onto the plate as well. 

He carefully carried it into the lounge and set it down on the coffee table, nudging Nick who had lolloped onto the arm of the sofa, “Food and liquids.” He stated, pointing at the tray.

Nick groaned.

“No. You’re gonna eat and drink this, because it’s the middle of the day and you’re gazeboed.” 

Nick groaned again but sat up, hair wilting to the side and Harry had to coo a little and try and push it back, must to Nick’s behest. He swatted at the popstars hands, hissing and slapping him away, “Begone child.”

Harry grinned, looking annoying lovely.

Nick weakly raised his hand, taking the tea and sipping it gently, “Thanks though. You might just be a lifesaver. If I hadn’t so gallantly given up on the Sambuca and texted you...I might not have made it.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Why is being thirty so terrible though? So you got some little eye crinkly bits. It’s not that bad. You’re all world wise and stuff. I’m the one who is stuck at shitty twenty.”

Nick shook his head and spoke around a mouthful of teddy bear shaped crisps, “You’re young and rich and beautiful and I’m like when you leave a banana next to all the nice fruit and everything ripens too quickly as the banana goes brown. And then your plums taste all banana-y.”

Harry blinked and rubbed at his eyes, “Stop comparing yourself to a fucking banana and tell me what's really the matter.”

Nick sighed and poked at the ham sandwich, “Just feel a bit shit is all. My best mate is a decade younger than me and I’m going to be forty in another decade. It’s terrifying. And going off to Ibiza in a few isn’t going to change the fact I’m so _old._ ”

Harry screwed up his nose, “You’re such a drama queen, you’re not old. Like, you won that GQ thing! That’s pretty...cool. And a young, indie person thing to do.”

Nick whined, “Don’t call me indie. Ezra Koenig is indie and he’s thirty too!”

Harry rolled his eyes and settled onto the sofa better, “You are young and in your...prime and all that. You do the Breakfast show. That’s like, a young person thing now because of you! Like, yeah you totally lost the Beeb a million listeners and stuff but….uh…….I mean….”

Nick raised his hands slowly, “I’m an almost-thirty year old MONSTER.”

He flumped to the sofa again, almost tipping over the tray in the process and Harry had to catch the stray Baby Bell that rolled off the plate. 

He sighed once more as Nick turned the telly back on, switching to the CBBC channel, “I need to relive my former glory. Watch some Blue Peter or something.”

Harry frowned, “I think they got rid of Blue Peter actually.”

Nick shrieked.

~*~

An hour later Nick was almost sober and still incredibly prickly about it all.

Harry had settled for cradling him like an infant, petting his flopped quiff, “I still think you’re cool. For the record and all. I remember you on T4. I used to wake up and turn onto you all the time.”

Nick grinned, “Turned on to me Haz?”

“No. Turn onto you. S’different.”

Nick nodded, “Mmm. Sure.”

Harry laughed quietly against the side of Nick’s head, “Shut up. I’m trying to be supportive and say I’ll always think you’re some bouncy presenter off the telly. Even when you’re like eighty and being racist.”

“Um. I’m not racist now, why would I be racist when I’m eighty?”

“Isn’t it like a fact all old people are a bit racist.”

“Harry please stop talking.”

“Soz.”

Nick huffed out a laugh and cupped Harry’s cheek, “Thanks for being a mate Haz. Sorry I’m a big baby. Just makes me feel a bit inadequate when you’re some jetsetter and I’m looking like some...Irish Setter….”

“....Is that like a….dog joke?”

“Yeah I’m trying, humour me.”

Harry smiled weakly, “You’re fine. You’re more than fine. You’re _fineeeee_.” He winked, awkwardly, and then bit at his bottom lip in embarrassment, “Sorry that was a bit naff.”

Nick nodded, “Yeah a bit...But thanks… _again._ ”

They sat in silence for a bit before Nick murmured, “Are you going soon?”

Harry nodded, “Gotta fly out again tonight. Got a show the next day.” He grimaced, “Sorry. I tried to be around a bit now to see you before your birthday but...You know.”

Nick waved it away, “Nah. S’fine. As long as you can spend a bit longer with me today that’s alright.” He chewed on the corner of his lip, “You made me triangle sandwiches and everything...And got me Pomme Bears.”

He sniffed a little and Harry leaned back, “Please don’t cry, or I’ll cry.”

Nick wiped at his damp eyes, “No. I’m alright. Just...You bloody well got me teddy shaped crisps. Not even as a joke. For real. I think I might love you Hazza Styles.”

Harry beamed, “Oh Nicholas!”

Nick surged forward, making kissy noises until Harry was hoarsley yelling at him to stop.

And he did.

When their mouths brushed against each other.

Harry scooted back suddenly, “Oh!”

Nick reared back as well, “Shit. Sorry.”

Harry touched a finger to his mouth, “Uh...No...It’s….fuck.”

Nick inhaled sharply, “Sod it.”

He grabbed at Harry’s cheeks, trying his hardest to lick into Harry’s mouth. Harry’s arms went a bit limp, then were grasping at Nick’s waist all of a sudden, tucking into the back of his boxers making Nick pull back and mutter, “Fucking hell Haz.”

Harry smiled sweetly and squeezed a little.

~*~

Lou poked at Harry’s neck, “It’s massive.”

Harry glared, “Piss off, alright?”

Lou grinned and flicked the bruise again, “So, what’s it like having something up there?”

Niall tutted, “You’re nasty Lou.”

Lou shrugged, “I’m just asking. Is it like...uncomfortable?”

Harry sighed and pushed his headband up, “Who the fuck is saying I was the one taking it Lou?”

Zayn and Liam both started hollering at the same time as Harry’s grinned widened and his phone _pinged_ with a stream of heart eye emojis from Nick, back home in the UK.


End file.
